


Mice Mishaps

by theredhood



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Based on a Tumblr Post, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, post war bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredhood/pseuds/theredhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: person A walks in to see person B standing on a chair, hiding from a mouse.</p><p>Steve, well-known night owl, is up working on commissions in the middle of the night when he hears loud noises and screaming from the apartment next to his. When he went to check on his neighbor, he was expecting something along the line of robbery or murder. A hot guy who was built like a brick house and standing on a table while cowering was NOT what he was thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mice Mishaps

**Author's Note:**

> honestly i was just bored and waiting for this tornado warning to blow over.  
> here we are.
> 
> also the reason bucky had groceries out so late was because he grabs whatever food he needs whenever because he doesn't like large crowds. plus grocery shopping is actually really stressful and bucky would avoid it at ALL costs.
> 
> un-beta'd because fuck it  
> rated T for language because I swear a fucking lot and that shows in my writing

Steve leans back in his chair from where he's hunched over his desk, dropping his tablet pen so he can stretch his arms upwards. He half-groans half-moans when he cracks his back, which is stiff as hell from sitting hunched over his computer for the past six hours. His art commissions have increased by a fuckton this week, which means he's up all fucking night trying to finish them.

The blond hangs limp in his chair for a few minutes, arms and feet dangling off the sides of the chair. He stares up at the off-white ceiling for a bit, studying the glow-in-the-dark stars he had stuck up there when he first moved in. He's added more over the years, but the pink and blue ones are his favorite, they always glow the brightest. "Fuck," Steve says aloud, eyes fixed on the sparkly sun directly above his head, "I'm thirsty."

He doesn't move for another few minutes, though, seemingly weighing out the pros and cons of getting up to go get a drink. " _Fuuuck_ ," Steve groans, forcing himself to get up. He drags his socked feet all the way to the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes as he goes. Steve doesn't like to wear his contacts when doing digital art, so he usually has his glasses on, _except_  Clint had accidentally broken them last week. Which means Steve's been wandering blind whenever he takes a break from his commisions (thank god he knows his way around his own apartment).

Steve speeds up and slides in front of the fridge, then pulls out a jug of apple juice. He moves so he can sit on top of the counter and looks out of the windows in his dining room. Dangling his feet, Steve thinks about putting music on. Nothing too loud, of course, he has to remind himself, it _is_ a half hour to midnight. Stark says the walls are soundproof, but his next door neighbor's singing tells a different story.

Stark, his landlord and kinda friend, _had_  been right about the apartment itself, though. It was exactly what he wanted, and Steve has a sneaking suspicion that Tony had designed it that way just for him. There were lots of large windows that let in tons of sunlight, the balcony was big enough for a table and chairs, and the view outside was wonderful. It was like a wet dream for Steve and his artistic heart.

He hops off the counter and puts the apple juice away, suddenly thinking about what music he should play again. His gaze flitters over to the record player in the corner of the living room. Steve doesn't even have to consider what record to play, he just bought a Harry James record not too long ago and has become obssessed. He loves that the record is mostly instrumental, lyrics distract him too much when drawing plus the more swingy music always makes him want to dance (which he _can't_ ).

The record is still out from when he was playing it that morning, so loading it up is quick. Steve rubs at his eyes again, the glow of the computer screen having messed up with his farsighted-ness. Steve's about to go back to working but when he gets halfway to his art room, he decides to turn up the music louder. He leans down to see the volume dial but a crashing sound from the apartment next door makes him pull back forcefully, which ends up with him on his ass.

There's the sound of a chair scraping on the wood floors and muffled shouting (cursing?) which has Steve pushing himself off the floor and running as fast as his asthma will allow him to. The door to the apartment is cracked open slowly, light filtering through along with more cursing. Steve knocks on the door and opens it, calling out "you alright?"

When he opens the door all the way, Steve has to physically hold himself back from laughing out. There's a man who's ripped and close to being six fucking feet crouching on top of a granite island in front of him. There's a chair on it's side next to the island counter-top and a bag of spilled groceries next to the chair. Steve doesn't really have time to get a good look at the guy, especially with his lack of glasses, because the guy's pointing at his fridge and swearing at it. "Fuck you," he hisses at the fridge, except- wait, something in front of the fridge scurries towards the guy on the counter, causing him to jerk his hand towards himself and gasp. He turns his gaze on Steve, a look of terror on his face, and says, "I fucking hate rats."

Which only sets Steve's laughter off again, leaving him gasping for air and doubling over because he's laughing so hard. The other guy looks at Steve funny for a few seconds before getting with the program and shaking his head, "fuck you, they're gross." When Steve stands upright again, takes a puff from his inhaler, and tries to calm himself, the guy starts to speak again. "Can you, uh, can you kill it for me?" (Steve _swears_  he laughs himself a set of abs after that).

The blond nods, still half-laughing as he walks into the room. He sets the groceries on the table but takes the paper bag the groceries were in. "Where'd it go?" he asks. The guy points towards a cabinet in the corner and that's when Steve notices how it shines in the dim kitchen light. It's silver but it looks _plated_ , so it's not just a tattoo with cool ink or a shirt sleeve. Steve tears his eyes away quickly and glances towards where the mouse is. It's huddled in the corner, which'll make it easier for Steve to catch. "Do you have any cheese or something like that?"

"Yeah," the guy says, "there's cheese-sticks on the counter over there, I got them at the store...?"

After Steve finds the cheese and throws a few pieces near the mouse, he circles around behind it. The rodent, _thankfully_ , takes the bait and nibbles at the cheese on the floor. Steve can hear the guy breathing heavily in the background, so he throws a piece of cheese at him and tells him to "shut the hell up." In one (not exactly) swift motion, Steve swoops down with the paper bag and scoops up the mouse. It scurries around in the bag when he lifts it up and scratches the sides audibly. Steve holds the bag out to the guy and grins, "you're welcome."

"Thank you, uh," the guy stammers, obviously a little shaken up at being so close to the mouse, "I'm sorry, I never got your name."

"Steve Rogers," the blond replies, folding the top of the bag a few times and setting it near the door, "we're neighbors."

"Alright, Steve," the guy grins, losing his nervousness almost instantly, "I'm the guy who's gonna take you out for "thank-you" drinks soon, but you can call me Bucky."

When Steve turns around from the door, he's face-to-face (err, face-to-chin) with Bucky. Now that Steve can actually _see_  Bucky, he suddenly feels like he should take out his inhaler. The guy is even _more_ muscled up close, which is pretty fucking impressive. As he looks up into probably the hottest guy in the damn apartment building's eyes and grins, Steve forgets to ask about the arm. "I gotta warn you," Steve smiles, "I'm kind of a lightweight."

"Well," Bucky begins, charm practically _oozing_  from his voice, "I'm not on friendly-terms with rodents, so I guess our faults cancel out."

(They end up seeing a movie instead).


End file.
